


Seems Like A Long Time

by Snowfilly1



Series: Seems Like A Long Time [1]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Beaches, First Kiss, Getting Together, Inspired by Fanart, Literal Sleeping Together, Love Confessions, M/M, Post-Canon, Protective Aziraphale (Good Omens), Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-25
Updated: 2020-06-25
Packaged: 2021-03-04 03:08:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24916600
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Snowfilly1/pseuds/Snowfilly1
Summary: 'I thought maybe we could walk on the beach?'Demons don't go on beach walks, he wants to protest. They're meant to stay in the dark and the cold and that beach is so long and wide, anyone would be able to see them together. You can't have a secret meeting on a deserted beach. 'Uhh.''They're leaving us alone, Crowley. No-one will be looking for us.'13 days after the world doesn't end, and longer than that since Crowley's been able to sleep, they finally manage to have a conversation about things.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Seems Like A Long Time [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1886791
Comments: 38
Kudos: 185
Collections: Week 25: Seaside Getaway





	Seems Like A Long Time

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Yvesriba](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yvesriba/gifts), [HarmoniHalo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/HarmoniHalo/gifts), [The Moony Mistress (moonymistress)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/moonymistress/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Hissed Off](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24917611) by [Yvesriba](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yvesriba/pseuds/Yvesriba). 



> This fic was inspired by this artwork by Yvesriba, https://archiveofourown.org/works/24917611 
> 
> of Crowley and Aziraphale wearing exactly the clothes described in this fic, on a beach, and the artwork was inspired by HarmoniHalo's on the Ineffable Husbands FB group, of a cross-stitch of a cross snake and MoonyMistress' idea that there should be art created of it. Yvesriba was also cheerleader and beta on this one - a huge thank you to everyone involved!
> 
> Title is from a Rod Stewart song of the same name. 
> 
> I...I wrote something without even any swearing to warn of?

Crowley's never been so glad to see the sunrise. The unfamiliar room eases back into shades of yellow and cream, and he uncoils beneath the quilt and stretches. Yawns wide enough that even his snake hinged jaw aches with it. He's spent too long waiting for it to get light. 

He won't be disturbing Aziraphale if he gets up now, will he? The angel doesn't sleep, it's not like he's going to mind Crowley stumbling about in search of coffee. He'd wanted Crowley here in the first place. 

He repeats that to himself as he gets out of bed and walks a lap of the room. Old habits. No-one's touched the window over night. The few things he'd brought with him haven't moved on the table. Aziraphale wants him here; Aziraphale asked him to come away with him. It won't have changed overnight. 

A quick ruffle of his hair, enough so that he looks like he's slept. Dressing seems like too much effort. The air smells of the first days of autumn, and toast. If Aziraphale's cooking, he definitely won't be in the way if he goes downstairs now. 

'Morning,' and oh, how has he lived six thousand years without knowing what Aziraphale looks like when he's cooking breakfast? Hair ruffled up, glasses slightly askew, an air of concentration that Crowley's more used to seeing directed at books. 

'Good morning,' the angel replies, hardly looking up from the frying pan he's glaring at. He isn't dressed for the day either, but while Crowley's still wearing the shirt and shorts he was attempting to sleep in, Aziraphale looks like he's ready for the beach. It's so domestic and so unexpected that Crowley feels lost. 

Coffee. If nothing else, he might feel more awake afterwards. 

Only Aziraphale smiles at him and says 'I'll make you some, dearest,' and he isn't sure if the name or the offer is more surprising. 

The angel finds him in the garden a few minutes later, pushes a coffee mug into his hands. 'You look tired.'

Crowley makes a short noise that he hopes doesn't sound like agreement and gulps his coffee. It's perfect. 

'What would you like to do today?' Aziraphale asks after he's done eating, putting the plate down on the grass. It shouldn't be warm enough to eat breakfast outside at 7.00 am in September, but maybe it's Adam's doing. 

'You were the one who wanted to come here, angel,' Crowley replies. He wants to say 'tell me what you want to do, let me make it happen.' At home, he knows what restaurants to suggest, what's safe and familiar. This is uncharted, and he's tired, and...he wishes that he had the faintest clue why Aziraphale had invited him along. 

'You were doing yourself no favours staying in London. Talking of which, did you sleep well?'

He wants to lie. Settles for not answering, staring down at ants bustling in the grass. Little flickers of life, unaware they're being watched by a demon. Lucky them. 

'Crowley.'

He looks up at that, the slightly different pronunciation Aziraphale gives his name. It sounds like a caress. 

'If you're still tired, we can stay in this morning. All day.'

'Nah. Isss...It's fine.' They're 13 days into the world not ending. Longer than that since he slept; it's going to take more than a morning in to make a difference to how he's feeling, and he's not going to ruin whatever Aziraphale wants to make of this just because his whole body is aching for rest. 

'In that case, I thought maybe we could walk on the beach?'

Demons don't go on beach walks, he wants to protest. They're meant to stay in the dark and the cold and that beach is so long and wide, anyone would be able to see them together. You can't have a secret meeting on a deserted beach. 'Uhh.'

'They're leaving us alone, Crowley. No-one will be looking for us.'

He says it so firmly that Crowley forgets himself and blinks. Nods. 

'Fantastic,' and Aziraphale reaches out and takes his hand. 

He stumbles to his feet. Falls into step alongside Aziraphale. His hand is impossibly warm, silk-steel against Crowley's. A world away from the clenching, please don't leave me, clasp they'd shared on the bus. They must have held hands some time in the past but he can't remember when. 

He laces his fingers with Aziraphale's. It's the most beautiful thing he's ever felt. 

'Is this alright?' he manages to ask, as Aziraphale sidles in front of him to step around a particularly spiky clump of dune grass. 

'Of course, dearest. I rather...Unless you don't like it?'

He can't focus on much beyond that name again, so settles for 'yeah, I like it,' and pretends to study their path with more intensity than it needs. 

'I like it as well.'

Aziraphale likes holding hands with him. That's probably enough to justify saving the world on its own. 

***

The beach is, unexpectedly, gorgeous. Aziraphale pauses at the bottom of the sand dunes, stands and stares to the tideline and the waves in the distance. Low tide, hardly any swell, although Crowley can taste the salt sharpness of it all, the hunger of the sea. He's not been this close to the ocean since humans had got around to inventing planes. 

'I'm glad you're here,' he blurts out and then blesses himself. 

'Yes.' 

The gulls scream and shriek then, saving both of them from taking that discussion further. Instead, they fall into step and walk, chasing their shadows along the sand. Aziraphale picks up some seaglass and twists it around, watching the sunlight fracture through it. Crowley dunks the nearest gull, relents when he catches the angel laughing at him. 

Perhaps this is what freedom feels like. 

The end of the beach is sheer cliffs, shot through with mine workings and tunnels that open out into the empty air. Crowley finds a rock that's warming in the sun and sits against it. Aziraphale sits next to him, their legs touching. The waves roll ceaselessly forward. 

'I didn't know you wore shorts,' Aziraphale says, a long while later. 

'Sleep in 'em, that's all,' and he stops before trying to explain how getting dressed this morning had seemed like too much effort. 'Didn't know you did, either.'

He'll never, ever get bored of hearing Aziraphale laugh. It's a quicksilver, star shaping, noise, and it makes him feel strange even though he loves it. 

'What else would I wear to a beach in a heat wave, Crowley? Honestly.'

The waves keep chattering away. Aziraphale sits alongside him, close enough that Crowley can feel the warmth of him. The cliff-fall rock against his back is taller than he is; it must shield him from view. Crowley can feel himself drifting. 

'If you want to sleep, I don't mind.'

He mutters a protest and pulls himself back up. Manages to distract himself by cursing an angler he can see a long way down the beach and Aziraphale laughs with him as they watch the man try and sort his line out, but it's not long before he's yawning again. 

'When was the last time you really went to sleep, Crowley?'

'Dunno,' and although Aziraphale stares at him, he can't come up with a better answer. 'I can't remember.'

'I'll keep watch, if you like. There's no-one here.' Aziraphale untangles their fingers; wraps his arm around Crowley's shoulders before he has time to process what's happening. There's a flutter of something that surely can't be wings - they can't, not here, not here - and Crowley finds himself held gently against Aziraphale's chest. 

Sleep comes between two waves breaking. Unbroken by dreams.

***

'Dearest. Wake up.'

He fights against opening his eyes, despite realising it's Aziraphale's voice. The angel's breath is warm against his face. 

'Wake up, Crowley. Tides are a bit outside the scope of my miracles.'

'Ugh.' He stretches, eyes still closed, and pushes a hand straight into Aziraphale's wing. 'Sorry! I didn't...' 

'It's fine. We've plenty of time to walk back, but I didn't think you'd like to get wet for the sake of sleeping a while longer. Do you feel better?' 

Crowley thinks a minute. Nods. 'Didn't you get bored jus' sitting there watching me sleep?' 

'Not at all. Come on.' Aziraphale takes his hand again, pulls him to his feet. It's easy, so easy to fall back into a matched step. 

'I didn't know you'd kept that shirt,' Aziraphale says a few minutes later. 'It was a...'

He ducks his head, looking down at the little angry snake on his top. 'I know what it was, angel.' Like the other few presents he'd received from him over the centuries; small things, easy to pass off as meaningless.' It reminded me of you,' Aziraphale had said, bundling it into his hands, still folded up. He hadn't looked at it until he'd got home that night - a cross snake, saying 'The day just started and I'm already hissed off.'

It had looked a lot like 'I love you.'

'I wear it a lot,' he mutters. ''Minds me of you.'

He can feel Aziraphale smiling. 'I kept all the books you gave me.'

'You keep stray books you find in the street.'

'Yours are in the locked cabinets, though.' 

'Oh, that's true love if ever I heard it,' and he isn't able to stop the words in time. They spill out into the September air, clear against the beach noises. He wants to apologise for his audacity in naming this thing between them. 

Aziraphale stops, pulls Crowley to a halt alongside him. 'Crowley?'

'Yeah?'

'It is. What you said. I love you.'

'Oh.' He takes his glasses off, rubs his eyes. 'Oh. I mean...' He drops his head slightly. Aziraphale's hair cloud soft under his fingers, and the angel steps closer to him, pulls him closer as though he needed any encouragement. 

Kissing was easier than words. 

He's always thought he'd been made to make stars, but perhaps it had been to make Aziraphale moan like that, leaning into him as they tasted each other; to be part of Aziraphale-and-Crowley rather than one lonely demon. 

Crowley pulls back eventually, eons later. Stays close enough that they didn't have to let go of each other; he can feel Aziraphale's fingers wrapped in the fabric of his top. 

'Can I presume the feeling's mutual?' Aziraphale sounds dazed. 

'Yeah. Yeah, very mutual.'

'Good.'

***

Crowley doesn't pack much for his honeymoon, but the snake top comes at Aziraphale's request. He doesn't get to spend a lot of time wearing it, but as the angel assures him, it's the thought that counts.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Hissed Off](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24917611) by [Yvesriba](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yvesriba/pseuds/Yvesriba)




End file.
